A Heart Wide Open Sort of Day ...

It was the first hot day of Spring, and the otherwise wonderful Womb, which you must remember is a finished attic, shot up to 83 degrees. Yes, with the windows open. It's too early to put the window AC units in, so I will grit my teeth and get through this early heat disturbance, which is set to last about three days.

Despite the discomfort, it was a heart wide open sort of day. Vincent & The Doctor stuck with me, and I thought a lot about madness & visions & the creative life. I see other worlds, and I try to write them down, and I hope that when people read what I write they can find their way there. That's crazy, isn't it?

The Muse is highly psychic, and it's one of the things I love about her. Her openness. Her receptivity. The bravery it takes to show that side of herself to me. So why do I love it about her and then turn around and wish I didn't see those other worlds? What would I be if I stopped seeing them, stopped visiting them in my dreams?

It's astonishing to me how little I have in the way of answers these days. Calcination, like the work of the South in shamanism, seems to be about emptying out, hollowing out, beginning again from nothing, and dying dying dying to who you were. I've gotten good at this, regenerating periodically, but it never gets easier.

I know this is why The Doctor has been such an important character and metaphor for me these last few years. During my own last regeneration, the last Doctor was a touchstone for me, all charismatic and full of answers, his sharp intelligence and big heart matched only by his loneliness. Sounds like who I used to be, to the letter.

Now though, this strange, angry, unsure, young looking but old-hearted man is running around with that name, and everything I disliked about him these last few years is resonating with me, probably because I see all of those qualities within myself now. It's a bit eerie to find our lives mirrored in the stories we love, isn't it?

The afternoon continued on, hot and vulnerable, and I wrote a few more lines of what seems to be the heart of the new book, the section I've been writing around for the last few months. E was in and out, off to her yoga and volunteering, and when Bug got home I spent some time in the kitchen with her, sharing all these feels with her while she made me one of her rosemary / thyme smudge sticks.

When E got home, we had dinner and watched some old Uncle Floyd skits, before I came back up here to write a letter to The Muse. (It had been a few days, and she needed a new Jonsi track ... ) It's not terribly late but I'm tired and this entry is running out of steam. Good night my dears. Miss you all.